


Ticks And Tie-Ups

by wearyeyebrow



Category: Undertail - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Consensual Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Established Relationship, F/M, Gentle femdom, Light BDSM, Overtimulation, Praise Kink, References to Shakespeare, Sensitive bones, Sub Sans, Subdrop, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearyeyebrow/pseuds/wearyeyebrow
Summary: My love for sub Sans and gentle femdom only grows. So, why not throw a little bondage into the mix? I had a lot of fun researching the softer side of BDSM. This one opens with a sex scene, so if you're just here for some fun times you won't have to look very far. And if you're into emotional exploration, I've got some of that too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: I decided to revise this a bit. The sex scene felt too sterile, and a few other things bugged me. So I did some fixing. Hope you enjoy!

The evening sun seeps through your blinds, throwing shadows across the wall. The light warps as it passes through San's rib cage. You make a rabbit with your hands and bounce it around the room. He chuckles. 

He sticks his fingers between his radius and ulna, making a crocodile.

‘Nice. The best I’ve got is a shoddy fox, or a pretty good dog, depending on how you look at it.’

‘it’s all in the wrist.’ He grins when you snort out a laugh.

‘Well, I’m gonna have to ask for your wrists behind your back. Hold your forearms.’

You halve the rope and slip the bite behind his wrists, working to creating a single column tie. You like using a modified version of a box tie to suit his anatomy. And while you've done this before, there's a certain amount of pride you take in doing a better, more precise job each time.

You draw the rope up and around his arm, sliding it across his chest and back again. As you reach for the rope on the other side of his body, your hair falls across his shoulders. You lightly kiss his neck as you pass on by. He smells musky like an old world map and tastes like salt. The shadows cast through his body remain stagnant, shifting only with the expansion and contraction of his rib cage. 

He bows his head, his voice gone quiet. You make a silly joke and he laughs softly.

You circle his body as you work, reveling at the sensation of rope threading through your fingers. You gently tighten them and draw the bite down to support his wrists, before running your fingers underneath the bindings, testing for give.

Next, you work carefully, to position the rope through two of his ribs and up around his shoulder, brushing your fingers over him when you repeat each side. You finally wrap it around front again, creating an alternating pattern between his ribs. The rope rests just under his sternum so it holds. 

You adjust the final tie, making sure all ropes are straight and parallel, and then step back to admire your work. 

He looks fantastic. 

The rope weaves through his body like scaffolding, resembling a piece of modern art. You only wish you were better at complex ties, or that you had an entire day to work with him. But you take comfort in that he’s all yours for the evening. 

'Anything feel too tight?' He shakes his head no.

‘You remember the safeword?’ 

‘yes.’ 

‘Good.’ You gently push him flat on his back, his chest bends convex against the ties. You rest your forehead against his and he closes his eye sockets. The moment lasts until you draw back. 

You pull at the ropes, adjusting them. 'Tell me Sans, what do you like about being tied up?’

His face turns a light shade of blue and he looks away. 

‘No, look at me - it’s only us right now.’

He forces himself to focus on you, his eyelights bore into your pupils. ‘I’ll repeat the question: Sans, what do you like about being tied up?’

‘i…’ He clears his nonexistent throat.

‘Yes?’ You finger the rope through his ribs, pulling it taut. 

‘… well, uh, ya know, being tied down isn’t the same thing as being tethered to reality, heh.’

You smile in spite of yourself and breathe deeply through your nose.

‘You didn’t,’ your fingers gently brush against his clavicle, ‘properly answer my question.’ 

‘Sans,’ you lean in, ‘tell me,’ you grip the ropes on his chest, ‘what do you like about being tied up?’

He inhales sharply and the color of his cheeks darken.

‘i like feeling…’

‘Feeling what?’ 

‘…safe.’ The last word is quiet, said like a shameful confession. You lean down and speak low against his skull. 

‘There you go... I knew you could do it.’ 

You kiss his cheekbone before dipping below his jaw to tongue his weak spot. You take your time with each divot, carefully taking advantage of his fourth cervical vertebrae. His breath hitches as you suck on the little protrusions of bone, and he gasps when you ghost the outline of his pelvis.

This soft, torturous build up is what you live for.

From here, it just takes time. 

You reach inside of him and outline the ropes that hold him. The smooth nylon feels lovely against your skin. You brush against his hipbones and scratch at the imperfections there, watching him squirm beneath you. 

You feel subtle sparks of magic jump across his body, jolting between the two of you. And you hear a familiar crackling sound as it gathers at his pelvis. You glance down and lick your lips at the sight of his cock, thick and pulsing. You leave it alone for now.

You set to work lightly fingering all of the spaces between bone - between his ulna and radius, the gaps in his ribs. You keep him guessing until he's hyper aware of each move you make, every shift of your body. He drags his feet over your calves.

You watch him closely and take your time, unwinding him bone by bone. 

Your soft touch mutates when you hold his hipbones down between your bicep and side like a vice. You dip below his cock and circle the outer rim of the holes in his sacrum. He arches his back, straining against the ropes, and you struggle to hold him down. His legs grip your sides. You slip in further and get a taste of his voice, high pitched and needy. 

You kiss between the top two holes, and then languidly lick your way down his tailbone. He whimpers as you tease the tiny bones with your tongue. You double down on your grip when you take it into your mouth.

He shouts and strains against the ropes until you hear his spine crack. You know you're holding him right between pleasure and pain. With what room you have left you reach down and finger the smallest holes of his sacrum, your pinky just small enough to fit inside. He's desperately trying to move against your mouth, towards it or away from it, you can't tell. You chuckle when you feel a drop of pre-cum land on your head - should've thought of that. But the vibrations of your vocal chords get him gasping. Just a little longer. 

You glance up at him from behind his cock when he whispers your name. He struggles to lift his head enough to look at you. You quirk an eyebrow, your mouth a little busy. He groans and his head falls back on the pillow. 

'ah fuck, please...' 

You struggle to speak around his tailbone. 'Please what?'

'please touch me.'

'You'll have to be more specific.'

'_____ please...' you nibble lightly on his tailbone, 'ah f-fuck - touch me, touch my cock, i want your hands all over me - fucking please!'

He shudders as you release his tailbone, and a string of saliva stretches from your mouth. You gaze upwards and he’s staring straight at you, his face dusted a light blue that’s reached the tips of his shoulders, mouth open, brow furrowed. 

You feel your face flush, your muscles tighten. 

You crawl up his body, whispering low. 'Well said, but don't worry. I'll take good care of you tonight.'

'_____.' His eyelights never leave your face.

'Just like that,' your hand hovers over his cock, 'say my name.' 

You thumb the tip, his breath hitches and his eyelights flicker. You snag a bottle of lube from your nightstand and flick its cap off, squeezing some into your hand.

'Squirm for me.' You stroke his shaft and your thumb brushes the head. You know just what he likes.

He moans low, deep in his throat. He tries to thrust into your hand but you sit back on his legs. He can barely move underneath your weight. Your other hand roams his body, revisiting his chest cavity, jerking his spine. He’s struggling against his restraints, breathing heavily, twitching beneath you.

He doesn’t seem to know what to react to, the hand on his cock or the one everywhere else. 

A bead of pre-cum catches on your finger as you circle the head of his cock. You finger the underside of his sternum as you speed up.

‘yes… yes, oh fuck yes, _____, please…’

Your grip tightens and you adjust your rhythm. He’s close. You lean over him and your tongue finds his sternum, but your voice carries, surrounding him. 

‘Not just yet…’

‘i don't know if i, ah-.’

You keep up a steady pace, ‘Just a little longer, hold it for me.’ 

He jerks his head to the side and bites the pillow beneath him. You keep the same pace, watching him closely, He gasps, 'no - no wait-' You can see his body tense, feel the heat of his magic rise, so you stop moving. He was just on the edge, so close to coming, he writhes beneath you. You kiss his forehead.

'I knew you could do it...' He glances up at you and inhales, his eyelights faint and unfocused. Almost there.

Your fingers crawl up his body as his breathing slows. ‘Sans…’ 

‘…mmm?’

Your thumb brushes against his cheekbone. ‘We’re alone. All alone, it’s just me, and we're not in a hurry. I'm gonna take good care of you, you've just gotta let me.’ Your voice is smooth, washing over him like water. Every passing thought dilutes until you really are alone, the past and future forgotten.

Your voice fades into nothing but a whisper, repeating your words until his eyelights fade out. 

‘You okay?’

‘…mhmm…’ There we go, you just have to keep going.

Your voice stays quiet. ‘Lie face down in front of me.’.

‘Lift your hips.’ You slide a pillow beneath him and he groans when it brushes against his half hard cock.

You lightly tug on the ropes, watching as they pull taut inside of him and constrict his shoulders. His head tilts to the side, neck bent into the bed, eye sockets lidded. You sit up behind him and enjoy the view of his cute little tailbone. His cock pulses with unreleased magic. 

You lick a stripe up his left hip bone and he unabashedly presses his pelvis against you. 

‘There you go.’ 

You nibble and suck on the small indents in his sacrum, enjoying the noises he makes.

‘Move your hips, slowly... Perfect, just like that.’ You revisit his tailbone and use your tongue to slowly unfurl it. 

His mouth opens and you can see a small trail of drool fall onto your bedspread. You don’t tell him to speed up just yet. You want to enjoy this. 

You reach down to your clit - it's hard and engorged. Your cunt aches.

‘You look so good like this, baby boy.’ He whines, his breath catching, eye sockets closing.

His hips haven’t stopped moving. His breathy moans climb in pitch - it’s so much stimulation, just barely not enough.

You kneel over him. Your breath combs the length of his spine as you check the ropes – there's still plenty of give. You pour a little more lube into your hand and work it through your fingers. 

You wrap your slicked up hand around his cock, ‘Move your hips faster.’ He obeys, speeding up; he moans, his rhythm lost.

He's muffled by the pillow beneath him and your lips brush against the back of his skull. His hips slow as he tires and moans when you take over, your hand moving with practiced ease. 

‘That's it... come for me, sweetheart.’

With one or two quick thrusts he comes hard, his voice still muffled by your bedspread. His body shudders with each subsequent spurt of cum. It coats your hand as you speed back up, not letting go of his cock. 

He whimpers and you whisper into his skull, ‘On your back.’

He does what he’s told, ignoring the cum-soaked pillow beneath him. Flat on his back, you roll your hand over his cock. 

He giggles deliriously at the overstimulation; tears form at the corners of his eye sockets. His legs shake and he rocks his head to the side against his restraints. His deep voice climbs impossibly high, before fading into quiet desperation. You crawl over him, your hand still on his cock.

You straddle him and gently guide him inside of you. His eye sockets flutter open before squeezing shut.

You quickly fall into rhythm, taking in every move he makes, every sound. You watch his face carefully, read his body, and when you feel him tense you slam your hips down and pause. He arches his neck, forehead touching the pillows behind him as he babbles beneath you, trying desperately to move his hips.

‘Not quite yet,’ you breathe. 

You wait a moment before you grind against him, you twist your hips, his cock buried as deep as it can go. A bead of sweat runs down your forehead and drips from the tip of your nose. 

You start bouncing, quick short thrusts of your hips. He can't begin to try and meet them. You’re close, so close. You move faster searching for what will tip you over the edge. You circle your clit and whisper a moan when his cock hits just the right spot. 

But he tenses and you can't stop soon enough. He arches his back and his hips break rhythm before he freezes, his hips shuddering. He growls, breathing harshly through his nasal cavity.

Feeling him orgasm makes you salivate. But as you pause you can feel your own release slipping away. You lean down, your voice dripping with desire. 

‘I haven’t come yet. Think you can go awhile longer for me?’

He turns his head to the side and leans his forehead against your arm, breathing heavily, you feel him nod. You're surprised he's coherent enough. 

You waste no time mercilessly working your hips on top of him. His eye sockets squeeze shut and his voice climbs high, gasping and whining with each shuddering breath he takes. You’re so close. You feel that familiar build up.

You fall forward and latch onto his neck with your teeth. You use the extra leverage and speed your hips up. You hear yourself moan his name. 

A few more quick thrusts and you orgasm, squeezing around him, locking him in place. 

You hear him scream and feel his hips jolt. Your inner walls pulse and your clit throbs. You whine against his shoulder, riding it for as long as you can, and growl as more of his warm cum slides down your legs. 

The ropes on his chest press into your skin. You breathe heavily through your nose and wait, softly sucking on his neck, your tongue gliding over the place you had bitten. You collect yourself as his body starts to relax. 

You arms shake as you pull back to support yourself. There are tear stains in the pillow below him, and more threaten to fall from his eye sockets as he takes in huge shuddering breaths. As you slowly lift yourself off of his cock his cum drips from your cunt. Your legs are shaking.

He mumbles iterations of your name, looking but not really seeing, his motor skills impaired.

‘Shh…’ You press kisses to his forehead and slip down beside him. 

You wrap your arms around him and he burrows into to you, his head finding the junction between your neck and shoulder. He sobs quietly as his body jolts with the occasional aftershock.

You run your thumb over his scapula, talking softly in his ear. ‘You did so well baby boy, m’so proud of you…’

You aren’t sure how much time passes, maybe a couple minutes, maybe half an hour, but eventually he starts to shiver.

You speak into the top of his skull. ‘Sans. Sans, I’ll be right back, okay? M’just going to grab some blankets.’ He weakly shifts against you 

‘no.’ 

‘You’re cold. It’ll only take a minute - I’ll be right back.’ He shakes his head against you.

You stroke his skull, ‘Okay, I won’t go anywhere.’

You wonder whether he notices he's shivering, or if he's lost some sensation too. 

You'd like him to come out of it sooner rather than later so you can warm him up. Your fingers slip beneath the ropes and you release each tie one by one, mentally working backwards as your hands move behind him.

After you’ve slipped the last bit of rope from between the two of you, you run your hands down his arms. He creaks out of the position he was locked in. His eye sockets open a crack, still dark inside. 

‘Sans.’

‘…hmm?’ He answers you this time.

‘You're shivering. I'm gonna go get some blankets. I'll be right back.’ 

‘…k.’ Good. You slide out of bed and go to your closet. You pull out a giant fuzzy one and a couple of quilts

You hurry back and wrap the fuzzy one around him before draping the quilts over the two of you. You prop up a few pillows, and then crawl into bed with him. As soon as you’re situated he latches onto your side. You lightly stroke his skull. He says nothing, his eye sockets still blank. You let him take his time coming back.

It feels as though time is swimming through molasses, heavy and slow. Your eyelids threaten to close, but you grab a book from your nightstand to keep yourself awake. 

The streetlights glow through your window, on late into the night. You aren’t sure what time it is when you feel him stir. 

You glance down at him. His eyelights are back, faint and misty. Warmth spreads through your chest. 

‘Hey.’ 

‘…hey.’ 

He slowly pulls himself up the bed until his arms are wrapped properly around your waist. You stroke his spine. 

‘You feeling okay?’

‘yeah.’

‘You want me to get you anything? Water? Food? More blankets?’ He shakes his head no.

'You wanna stay like this for awhile?' He shakes his head yes.

You kiss the top of his skull. 

‘Okay.’

-

You wake up in a puddle of your own drool and your hair tangled in the tiny bones of a skeleton hand. 

He slept over last night and you have work this morning. 

You wake him up slowly, not that it’s much different than usual; he’s not a morning person. And tell him he can stay as long as he wants – per usual, but you feel like clarifying, hinting that if he wants to stay until you get home from work, you won’t mind at all. But he mumbles something about Papyrus and you know he’ll be gone when you get back. You can’t help but smile fondly. 

You text him on your lunch break to check in with no reply. You think about texting him that evening when you get home. But work emails distract you and then so does the book you’re reading. 

You wake up hours later with its pages bent and an ugly red indent on your face. It’s four in the morning. You groan and push the book to the side, barely conscious, and fall back asleep. 

A couple hours later and your alarm goes off. You fumble for your phone in the bed sheets. You blearily glare at the screen when it vibrates, and you notice a couple texts from Sans. 

Received 5:04 am – hey.

Received 5:27 am - you have any free time today?

Received 6:01 am - if you do, you wanna meet up?

Sent: 6:02am - Yeah, I only work this morning so I’ll be off about three. Where do you want to meet?

You slide over the bed and sit up, your elbows popping. You can probably get a shower in before he replies--

Received 6:05 am - i can meet you at the café on 5th, the one outside your building. 

That was fast.

Sent 6:07am - ‘Sure! Unless you wanna meet somewhere in the middle, my work’s a little far.’

Received 6:08am - it’s fine. i’ll just meet you there.

Sent 6:10am - Okay, I’ll be at the café around 3:15.

Received 6:10am - see ya.

Huh. Isn’t he going to have to walk pretty far? You shrug. You’ll ask him later.

-

You see him before he sees you. He’s standing outside the café, leaning against the brick building. His hands are jammed forcefully in his pockets and he’s jiggling one leg against the concrete.

You’re a bit worried. Did someone give him trouble? You scan the horizon but everyone looks too preoccupied with themselves to pay much attention to the skeleton monster against the wall. Doesn’t stop you from moving just a bit faster. 

‘Hey!’ You say as you breeze up to him. The nervous foot tapping stops and his hands come out of his pockets before jamming themselves back in. 

‘hey. you wanna start walking?’

‘Uh, sure. My place or yours?’ 

‘Pap’s got a couple new friends coming over tonight.’ His place, then. 

He straightens and looks to you. You resist the urge to put your hand on the small of his back. 

Being friends with a monster is one thing. Humans have gotten used to them over the years. They transitioned into the overworld like the concept of being gay; slowly and not without a lot of misconceptions and prejudice. But most of the world came around, eventually. 

Now being with a monster is a whole different thing. And attention, whether positive or negative, isn’t what the two of you are into. You’re selfish in that department. You wonder if you should be doing more to support human-monster relationships. 

But then you look at him and the last thing you want is to put him, or yourself, in harm’s way. So you keep a respectable distance in public, and even among friends you stay relatively platonic.

You head around the block away from your workplace. The walk home is a rather quiet one. The snow underneath your feet gets whiter as you move further away from town, until only your footsteps remain. 

You make it through the rural pass and towards the distant suburbs. His house is a couple miles down the road from a monster-run housing development.

You trek through the snow up to the front door and as he opens it, ‘TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES BEFORE YOU COME IN SANS! I JUST MOPPED THE FLOORS.’ You chuckle. 

‘Sure thing Papyrus!’

He pops his head out from around the kitchen entryway, ‘____!’ 

He’s dressed nicely, casually but nicely. His shirt is pressed, of course. And the house, now that you look at it, is more immaculate than usual. It smells of lemon oil.

‘It looks great in here Papyrus.’

‘NATURALLY! IT ALWAYS LOOKS GREAT IN HERE, BUT IT HAS TO BE ESPECIALLY GREAT WHEN I’M ENTERTAINING NEW FRIENDS.’

‘New friends?’ You remove your coat.

‘WELL, THEY’RE TECHNICALLY NEW SINCE I’VE NEVER HAD THEM OVER. BUT I’VE KNOWN THEM FOR A FEW WEEKS; THEY’RE CLASSMATES OF MINE. BRANDON EVEN TAUGHT ME THE SECRET TO SOLVING CROSSWORD PUZZLES.’

‘Oh? What’s the secret?’ You nearly pull up a chair to talk with Papyrus. But when you glance back you notice Sans lingering by the stairs. You act like you were just checking for dust.

‘WELL, I CAN’T TELL JUST ANYONE. IT’S A SECRET. BUT YOU ARE IN MY CIRCLE OF THOSE PRIVY TO SECRETS SO, I CAN TELL YOU. THE SECRET IS…’ he pauses for dramatic effect.

‘READ EVERYTHING!’

‘Read everything?’ 

‘YES, READ EVERYTHING! I DON’T KNOW WHY I DIDN’T THINK OF IT. CROSSWORDS ARE KNOWLEDGE BASED, SO OF COURSE I’D STRUGGLE WITH THEM IF I AM NOT DIGESTING A REGULAR HELPING OF LITERATURE AND TEXT-BASED MESSAGES. I’VE STARTED SMALL: SHAMPOO BOTTLES. SOON ENOUGH I WILL BE DEVOURING WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE!’ 

He’s very good at coming up with metaphors even if they are often food based.

Sans glances over at his brother, ‘i’m sure you william paps. just don’t let undyne shakespeare ya for keepin’ it a secret.’ You wince. Those were pretty bad, even for him.

Papyrus breathes in deeply. ‘SANS, THIS IS EXACTLY WHY YOU WILL STAY UPSTAIRS WHILE MY FRIENDS ARE HERE. I LOVE YOU BROTHER, BUT YOU CAN BE A ROYAL PAIN IN MY TAILBONE, AND I WILL NOT HAVE YOU TRAUMATIZING MY FRIENDS WITH BLASPHEMOUS JOKES. IS NOTHING SAFE SANS? NOT EVEN CLASSIC LITERATURE???’

‘especially classic literature.’ 

Papyrus throws his hands in the air. ‘____ CAN YOU NOT MAKE HIM STOP? IT IS FOR THE SAKE OF MY SANITY, OF WHICH I CAN FEEL SLOWLY DRAIN FROM MY SOUL.’

You have to fight to contain your laughter. You look over at Sans and lean against a chair.

‘Sans, I bite my thumb at you.’

Papyrus recoils, aghast. ‘WHAT, NO, DO NOT BITE YOURSELF, YOUR THUMB WARS WILL BE SO PAINFUL!'

Sans stands straight. ‘oh, do you bite your thumb at me, sir?’

You snicker, which you're sure was the usual response in Shakespearean times. ‘I do bite my thumb, sir.’

‘but do you bite your thumb at me, sir?

You desperately try not to laugh. 

‘No sir, I do not bite my thumb at you sir, but I bite my thumb, sir.’ There’s a silent pause as Papyrus looks between the two of you, bewildered. 

You crack first, and then the both of you dissolve into a wheezy fit of laughter. 

You try and catch your breath. ‘I-I’m sorry Papyrus, it's from Romeo and Juliet - not one of his better plays.’ 

‘BUT ROMEO AND JULIET IS SUPPOSED TO BE A CLASSIC LOVE STORY!!! WHY IN THE WORLD – YOU KNOW WHAT? I DON’T WANT TO KNOW. PLEASE LEAVE, THEY WILL BE HERE ANY MINUTE.’

'Try Two Men of Verona. Or don't. All things considered... But, well, uh, I'll tell you about it later.'

Sans shrugs, ‘we’ll be upstairs if you need anything. see ya paps, have fun.’

‘AND YOU MAY TAKE YOUR MYSTERIOUS THUMB BITING WITH YOU. IT SOUNDS UNPLEASANT AND I WISH FOR NO PART OF IT.’ 

‘Duly noted.’

‘STILL, IT WAS NICE SEEING YOU ____! TA TA FOR NOW, AS THE KIDS SAY.’

You round the corner to the landing and Sans sets to unlocking the door to his room. As soon as you’re inside he locks it again. 

You sigh, relaxing and letting your shoulders drop. You honestly prefer his room to the pristine cleanliness of the rest of the house. 

It’s simple: a bed, a desk and chair with a lamp, a nightstand, a closet, and millions of blankets. His trashcan is full of wadded up paper. Pens litter his desk, most of them empty. You remind yourself again to let him know that you can buy ink separately. 

His floor is clean except for a few shirts here and there and a very specifically placed sock underneath his desk. Even after all these years you’re still not quite sure what significance it holds, but by now you rather prefer the mystery.

After glancing at the familiar scenery you focus in on Sans, the laughter from earlier gone.

‘Are some of my clothes still here? Or can I borrow yours – my work clothes make me feel like a box.’

‘i’ve got a couple of your shirts around here somewhere, i think…’ he opens his closet and pulls open the top of his dresser drawer. ‘been meaning to give these back to you. but i don’t know about pants. you can borrow mine, if you like.’ He grabs a pair from the floor of his closet. ‘they’re clean, i swear.’ You’re already taking off your shirt. 

‘Wouldn’t really be a huge deal if they weren’t, but thanks.’ They fit like capris.

‘…sometimes i think you’re even worse than me.’

‘No one’s worse than you, ketchup stain.’ That one gets a small laugh out of him. 

‘…But my jeans haven't been washed in like three weeks, so…’ 

‘gross.’ 

‘yeah.’ You wink. He smiles, but it’s strained.

‘Hey, you okay?’ You sit down on the edge of his bed, finally in something more comfortable. ‘You’ve seemed a little off today. Maybe I’m reading too much into things but…’ 

It takes him a second before he sighs, folding in on himself. ‘i don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘yeah.’ 

‘…You wanna talk about it?’

‘maybe? i’m not sure.’ You relax your posture and sit back on his bed.

‘You wanna sit down?’ 

‘uh, yeah.’ He sits down on the edge, his back to you. 

‘What’s up?’

‘that’s just it, i don’t know. last night, or maybe early this morning, i just sort of crashed.’

You furrow your brow. ‘Crashed?’

‘yeah. it’s hard to describe. i've never, you know, dropped after sex, so i don't know if that's what this is, or if it's, you know, legit.'

You hadn't thought of that. Shit. You should have called him instead of falling asleep. ‘If you wanna talk I’ll listen.’

He’s quiet for a time before speaking again.

‘...it’s irrational really. baseless. but i guess i feel like, have started feeling like, maybe all i do is take in our relationship. maybe i’m not what you want, what’s best for you, maybe i’m holding you back, maybe i bring too much baggage. maybe you’re only keeping me around until you find someone better. wouldn’t really blame you either.’ 

You immediately open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off.

‘yet at the same time i… at the same time i want the opposite of what i should considering how i feel, you know? i want you to hold me, stay with me, talk to me like you do when i’m coming down. just... needy, i guess.’ He leans away from you. 

‘heh. it’s pretty stupid. a feeling based on nothing. because it’s not like anything’s wrong. we’re fine, we’ve been able to work through stuff, arguments, you know… ah, fuck, i’m just not good with this. usually i’ve thought things through before i talk about them, but i just can’t shake this weird anxiety. i don’t know.’

He’s on edge, like he’s waiting for affirmation of your rejection. 

You move to sit behind him with his body resting between your legs. He’s tense as you intertwine your fingers with his, and rest your forehead against his back. 

‘Sans,’ you close your eyes, ‘baby, there is no one in my life I want by my side more than you. I’m not a fickle person; that won’t suddenly change.’ His hands tighten around yours. 

‘And I'm sorry for not thinking about this - we've just never had any problems, so I assumed... Was it something I did…?’ You worry, wondering if this is all your fault.

‘no.’

'You’re sure? Like I didn’t notice something? Maybe I didn't-’

He squeezes your hands. ‘no, i felt really relaxed when i came out of it. felt like time had stopped, just for a while. nothing you did.’

You rest your head on his shoulder, your brow furrowed.

‘nothing you did,’ he repeats softly.

You will yourself to believe him - you'll look into it more later. This isn't about you right now. 'Going back to what you said... I’m not sure how to convince you - I wanna figure out what to say to make you feel like you’re worth the world to me, because you are. The years we’ve spent together, working through each other’s ticks and hang-ups, I hold on to that. I don’t think I could build what we have with anyone else.

Just… know that, above everything, I love you, even if I don’t say it enough. I always want you in my life, if you’ll have me.

I mean, you could just as easily find someone better than me, someone more suited to you. You’re charismatic when you wanna be. Another monster could give you things that I can’t… and, ah, I don’t want to make this about myself. 

But how you feel is never stupid, whether it's a drop or not. And that’s coming from someone who’s nickname was ‘stone-face’ in high school. I just wanna know how to make it better, if I can. Or to let you have your space, if you need it.’ 

He slowly sinks into you. ‘…you mean all that?’

‘Of course I do.’ You nuzzle your forehead into his back.

‘…stone-face, huh?’

‘Did I never mention that?’ 

‘not that i remember.’ 

‘Huh. Well, my nickname in high school was ‘stone-face.’ You may laugh at my misfortune.’

‘nah… think i’ll just love you, stone-face.’

You squeeze his hands. ‘I love you too... Feeling any better?’

‘better than i did. if it's a drop m'sure it'll pass.' 

‘Can I stay until it does?’ 

‘sure, yeah. i'd like that.’

**Author's Note:**

> I tried my best to portray psychological subspace/subdrop well. Both are different experiences for everyone.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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